


The Letter

by Raven_Rissa95



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Adamant Fortress, Alone, Angst, Broken Heart, Broken Promises, Character Death, Death, Difficult Decisions, Dragon Age: Inquisition Quest - Here Lies the Abyss, Emotional, F/M, Fear, Feels, Ferelden, Grey Wardens, Guilt, Hawke Estate, Heartbreak, Kirkwall (Dragon Age), Long-Distance Relationship, Love, Post-Dragon Age II, Sacrifice, Self-Sacrifice, Siege of Adamant, Skyhold, Tevinter Imperium, The Breach (Dragon Age), The Fade, War, Worry, fenhawke - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-16
Updated: 2019-01-16
Packaged: 2019-10-11 09:53:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17444645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raven_Rissa95/pseuds/Raven_Rissa95
Summary: Fenris is in the midst of killing Tevinter slavers preying upon the refugees trying to escape Southern Thedas. But one day he receives a letter from an old friend containing news that will shatter his world completely...





	The Letter

 

  ** _"Nothing could be worse than the thought of living without you..."_**

>  

Sand between his toes, the warmth of the sun beaming down on his skin, Fenris relaxed on a beach facing the sea between him and Southern Thedas. As he lay back, propped up on his elbows beside his small camp, his muscles ached dully, but the lyrium beneath his skin hummed.

          Ever since the breach had ripped open the sky, painting it a glowing, eerie green instead of its usual light blue, residents of both Ferelden and Orlais had been fleeing to the Free Marches and even to Tevinter to get away from the sudden influx of demons making their way through to this world from the Fade. They were safe havens compared to the demon-infested lands of Southern Thedas, plagued also by a war sparked between mages and Templars.

 _Stupid Anders_ , Fenris cursed silently. All of this had been because of the mage, an abomination that should have been put down the moment the curse he called a ‘Spirit of Justice’ had been revealed. But it had not been Fenris’ decision. It had been Hawke’s. She had allowed the mage to live, on the promise that he would do his best to set things right.

          But the people fleeing were falling into the hands of Tevinter slavers who preyed upon the refugees trying to get away from the danger. Fenris knew all too well what being a slave was like in Tevinter. Although they seemed a distant memory now, he could still remember the lashings he received across his arms and back, the abusive words screamed into his pointed ears, the hunger pangs in his stomach after being denied food for the simplest mistakes… He shook his head before he could think on it any longer, white hair falling into his eyes. It was his personal mission to try his upmost best to save as many people as he could from that fate.

          He tore off his gauntlets, revealing red stained hands. Splashes of dried blood crusted in the creases of his palms like red veins. _Slaver blood gets everywhere_. He shuffled over to the clear blue water lapping against the sand and washed the blood from his skin and beneath his fingernails. As he pulled away from the water, he noticed a small rip in the red sash tied around his wrist. _Damn slavers_ , Fenris cursed. _I’ll have to fix it again_. It had blood stains, demon ichor, and dirt on it, but Fenris never took it off for longer than a few minutes. He would clean and mend it before fixing it back onto his wrist. It was the only thing he had of Hawke’s.

          His heart ached a little at the thought of her. Black hair, startling blue eyes the same colour as the sea before him, pale white skin, with a splash of red war paint across her nose. If he closed his eyes, he could see her as clear as day, swinging her staff around like an extension of her body, hands glowing blue, just like his lyrium tattoos—a sight that no longer terrified him.

          They had travelled together for a time after the events of Kirkwall, until the breach opened up and sent the world into chaos. She had left him to aid the recently formed Inquisition as soon as she found out that all this had been Corypheus’ doing—an old enemy previously thought to be dead.

_“I have to do my part,” she said one evening, after Fenris had begged her to stay as they stood beside a campfire they had made, deep in a secluded forest. “I can’t stay here when this is my fault.”_

_Fenris grabbed hold of her shoulders. “It is not your fault,” he said sternly. “You are not to blame.”_

_But Hawke shook her head, guilt consuming her. “I am. I released him. I thought we killed him but…people are dying and demons are everywhere because of me, because of my actions.”_

_Fenris sensed the determination in her voice as her sharp jaw hardened, about to step back from him. About to leave him. His knees almost gave out from beneath him at the thought of losing her. He tightened the grip on her shoulders before she could slip out of it, fingers digging into her skin. “Please, do not leave me,” he begged, voice cracking. Normally he would have been disgusted with himself at showing such weakness, but this was Hawke he was speaking to. A woman he had grown to care for, to love. “I cannot lose you.”_

_Hawke smiled. “You won’t lose me,” she said, stepping closer to him. She wrapped her arms around his neck. His hands slipped down from her shoulders to her waist, clinging to her torso, determined not to let go. “I’ll always be here with you.” She slid a hand down from his neck to his right wrist and tapped the sash tied there._

_“It is not the same,” Fenris grunted, looking away as his throat tightened with emotion. He cleared it quickly before he added, “I need you_ here, _with me.”_

_Hawke took his face in her hands and planted a kiss on his lips, sending a shiver down his spine, body aching for more. “I will come back,” she promised, looking deep into his green eyes. Whenever she did that, he could never look away. It was as though she were looking deep into his soul, into his very being, fixing him in place with her gaze. “I will see you again.”_

_“Then let me come with you. Let me fight by your side.”_

_Hawke shook her head. “No,” she said firmly. “You cannot join me this time, Fenris.”_

_He probably would have argued for hours to make her stay or to take him with her, but Hawke was a stubborn and determined woman when she wanted to be, and he could see that it would be a lost cause. She may even leave without saying goodbye in an attempt to leave him behind. “You will come back,” he ordered. He pulled her against his chest, resting her head on his shoulder. “You have to. I cannot live in a world where you are not in it.”_

_“I will come back,” she said again, giving his waist a little squeeze. “You’ll see.”_

          Fenris was brought back to the present by a loud growl from his stomach. _I guess I should eat something_. He reached for his pack beside him, but it was empty, having given the food from within it to the starving slaves he had rescued earlier that day from a Tevinter slaver. _I think there’s a local town around here somewhere_. He pulled himself to his feet, hauled the greatsword _Blade of Mercy_ that Hawke had given to him onto his back harness, and trudged his way across the sand to a small beach town at the very edge of Tevinter.

          It may have only been a small town, but it was as though someone had taken a chunk of a large Tevinter city and plunked it all the way out here by the coast. Tall, thin towers with large points at their tops that cast large shadows over the ground were dotted everywhere. Buildings were made with dark grey stone, their roofs black and spiked. Shining metal gates with more spikes at their tips lined the streets, fencing off mages’ houses from the common riff raff on the streets.

          Fenris spat on the ground as he entered. _A place made with magic,_ he thought bitterly. But he stopped himself abruptly from that train of thought, knowing what a certain person would make of it if they were here. _Sorry, Hawke_ , he thought, as though she were standing right next to him. _I’m still adjusting._ She had taught him that mages were not as evil as he had painted them all to be, but he still struggled not to let the deep hatred within him boil to the surface. Every now and then a slither would escape the cage he kept it in.

          As usual, the residents of Tevinter, dressed in their jagged and pointy clothes frowned and stared at him as he passed, in search of a food stall. It was highly unusual to see an elf walking freely without their master. But Fenris had no master now, thanks to Hawke. If anything, _she_ was his master, but he was a willing servant. He would do _anything_ for her, even die for her if need be. _Perhaps that was why she didn’t want me to come with her,_ he thought, amused. Townsfolk stared and whispered behind his back, but with one glare, his lyrium markings glowing aggressively, they were silenced and quickly looked elsewhere.

          He bought supplies from the local market, the stall tenders amazed that a lone elf had any money on him at all. Little did they know he had taken it off the bodies of slavers he had killed. Although he was tempted to tell them that, he held his tongue and took his goods back to his campsite on the beach, where he had made himself a small tent-like structure out of palm leaves and sticks and a campfire that needed to be lit.

 _If Hawke was here, she would have simply clicked her fingers and flames would erupt from her hands onto the wood_. So much easier than what he was doing now, hitting two stones together to create a spark that would catch fire on the beach wood. He still could not get over how much he now tolerated magic, because of her. It no longer frightened him. He was still wary of course, but he no longer hated mages on principle, despising who they were just because they had lyrium in their veins. It was not so different from elves being treated as second-class citizens simply because they had pointy ears. It was not something they could help.

          Thinking of Hawke made his heart ache again, so he took some food from his pack and munched on a chunk of bread and an apple to tire himself over until the next day.

          His ears twitched at the sound of footsteps thudding across the sand, slowly growing nearer and nearer by the second. “Ser!” said a voice. “Excuse me, Lethallan!”

          Fenris was on his feet immediately, blade poised, ready to cut down whomever was approaching him. Sensing movement to his right, he swung the blade until the tip stopped just before the throat of the intruder. An elf stood trembling at the other end of the blade, a messenger satchel on his shoulder.

          “What do you want?” Fenris growled, his grip on the heavy blade unwavering, the muscles in his arm taut.

          “I-I have a letter for you, ser!” the messenger squeaked, holding it out in his shaking hand. “Y-You are Fenris, r-right?”

          Fenris nodded, brow furrowing suspiciously. “Who is it from?”

          “I-I don’t know. It came from Skyhold,” he answered, holding it out to him, but not daring to move any part of his body but his arm. “Where the Inquisition are based.”

          Fenris lowered the blade and snatched it from the elf, who breathed a sigh of relief as the blade moved clear of his throat. He expressed his thanks to the messenger with a curt nod. “Leave me,” he ordered. The elf ran as fast as his knobbly legs could carry him across the beach from where he came.

          Fenris sat himself down by the fire as the sky turned dark above him, lit by twinkling white stars. Luckily, Hawke had taught him how to read. He was still a little rusty, but he could fill in the blanks if need be. They had sat together in Hawke’s Estate in her library most nights when they had been in Kirkwall. He would sit at a desk and read aloud to her. She would perch herself on the edge of the table beside him, correcting him if he made mistakes and encouraging him for finishing a paragraph without a break. She never laughed at how a grown man could not read, nor whenever he struggled with the simplest of words. She would kiss the tips of his ears whenever he pronounced a new word correctly, and wrap her arms around his shoulders, giving him an encouraging squeeze to continue.

          He felt the ghost of her embrace on his shoulders, the warmth of her skin against his. He shivered beside the fire as the cold night air wrapped itself around him instead. Shuffling closer to the flames to warm himself up and to give him light, he ripped open the envelope and unfolded the letter inside, his curiosity peaking when he recognised Varric Tethras’ handwriting.

 _Why would Varric be writing to me?_ A pang of worry twisted in his gut. _Hawke had better be okay._

**_Fenris,_ **

**_Hopefully you can read this. I know Hawke’s been teaching you to read, but I don’t know the extent of your abilities. If you can’t read this, get someone to read it to you. You need to know what’s happened._ **

**_I regret to inform you that Hawke is no longer with us. I’ll tell you the truth about what happened before word gets out and wild stories grow._ **

**_Hawke, the Inquisitor, Warden Stroud, myself, and a few other members of the Inquisition went to Adamant Fortress with the Inquisition’s army to put a stop to the crazy Grey Wardens who wanted to raise an army of demons, under Corypheus’ influence. We ended up falling directly into the Fade, and well, of course that wasn’t going to end well. We were trapped on our way out by a giant spider-demon, and Hawke put herself up to fight the beast alone so that the rest of us could escape, as did Warden Stroud._ **

**_The Inquisitor made a tough decision and agreed with Hawke that she should stay behind, as the Grey Wardens needed a leader to guide them from their dark place and rebuild. So Hawke faced the creature head on, allowing the rest of us to escape._ **

**_I can tell you that her last words were: ‘Sorry, Fenris.’_ **

**_I hope this letter finds you well. Sorry I’m not writing with better news. Try not to do anything stupid._ **

**_Regards,_ **

**_Varric_ **

          Fenris could not understand every word in the letter, but he did not need to in order to understand what Varric was trying to tell him.

          Hawke was dead.

          A cold numbness seeped through his body, catching his breath. The paper sat between his fingers, but he could barely feel it. The words on the page blocked out everything around him, from the waves crashing into the sand ahead of him to the birds cawing in the sky. Everything went silent, the only sound being his heart thudding loudly in his ears, slowly tearing itself in two.

_She promised me… She promised she would come back…_

          There had to be a mistake. Hawke could not be dead. Varric must have been mistaken, or drunk when he wrote the letter, or…

 _But it sounds like the type of self-sacrificing move she would make,_ he realised. She had given up her home and left Kirkwall out of fear that the Divine would order an Exalted March upon the city after Anders had stupidly blown up Kirkwall’s Chantry. She had given up her freedom to help the Inquisition fight Corypheus. Now she had given up her life.

          A pain seared through his chest as the news slowly tore his heart in two. He fell onto his hands and knees, the letter crumpled in a fist that he pressed against his chest in an attempt to ease the pain. It was as though his heart had been ripped out of his chest, as he had done to his enemies many times with his lyrium abilities.

 _Is this what it feels like when I tear out my opponents’ hearts?_ he wondered. _Do they feel the same pain as I feel now?_

          He was tempted to throw the letter into the fire beside him, to pretend he had never read those words. But he had. Hawke was dead…and the Inquisitor was responsible. He laid the letter out on the sand in front of him, smoothing out the creases he had made so he could read through it again as best he could.

          “The…The Inquiz… _Inquisitor_ made a tough…des…desi… _decision_ ,” he read aloud, white hair falling into his eyes again, but he did not push it aside, “and sided w-with Hawke…”

          Anger boiled in his belly like a raging dragon. _So, Inquisitor, you think you have the right to condemn my Hawke?_ He got to his feet, hoisted his sword onto the harness on his back with shaking hands, and slung his bag of supplies over his shoulder. _We’ll see about that._ He stormed away to the nearest port, determination in every stride.

***

Skyhold was a grand, intimidating place. It was no wonder why the Inquisition had chosen it as their base. Inquisition banners flew proudly from its walls up high in the mountains. It was quite a lengthy hike to get there. Fenris was used to warm sands and beaming hot sunshine. Shivering violently, he climbed the mountain path pilgrims had pointed out to him on his way here.

          With every step he took, his determination grew, as did his anger and sorrow. It built up inside him again, almost choking him from the pressure it caused inside his chest. Deep breaths kept his lyrium markings from glowing bright as he ascended the mountain, his target growing ever closer.

          Eventually he reached a stone path dotted in between the snow that spiralled up towards a tower, leading to a bridge that crossed the icy lake below it to the front gates. _I cannot just walk in there,_ Fenris realised, studying the building. All along the battlements sat Inquisition scouts and soldiers, watching the bridge and the grounds around them. _I need to get past them somehow._ Getting into a fortress would not be easy, but Fenris had had his fair share of experience of breaking into places he should not be.

          He veered off the path leading up to the bridge, and slid down the side of a hill towards the icy water below. His bare feet stung against the cold, but he gritted his teeth and ignored it. As he reached the water’s edge, he stuck out a toe and pressed it down upon the ice. It was firm and solid, and would hopefully support his weight. A little less gracefully than he would have liked, he skidded across the lake, his arms spread out either side of him for balance. The ice cracked and groaned beneath him, threatening to dump him into the ice-cold water.

          Eventually he reached the other side, where jagged, snow-covered rocks protruded from the ginormous mound of rock that the fortress was built upon. Fenris leapt into the air and grabbed hold of the first rock sticking out above him, pulling himself up onto it. He scaled the rocks, climbing higher and higher until he reached the base of the castle. From a distance, Skyhold looked empowering and strong, but close up he could see the neglect and wear upon its stones. Holes where the stone had cracked and crumbled, or where animals had burrowed and made their nests dotted this side of the castle. Fenris grinned. _An easy way up_. His muscles straining, he used the cracks and holes as hand and footholds to scale the side of the castle like a spider.

          He hoisted himself up onto the battlements, pressing himself flat against the stone, his grey armour and white hair blending in with the stone and snow around him. His eyes searched the area until he found the front doors leading into what Fenris assumed was the main hall. For a castle meant to host a rebellion, its grounds were oddly quiet, so Fenris took that to mean that everyone was inside. _That is where I will find the Inquisitor no doubt._ He crouched down low behind walls and crept into a nearby building with its door left ajar, and quickly closed it behind him.

          “Excuse me?” said a voice, startling Fenris. He jumped out of skin, whirling round to see a man dressed in red and silver armour, fur around his shoulders beneath a head of golden hair. “Who are you?” he asked, a gloved hand hovering over the sword on his belt as he stood behind his desk.

          Fenris righted himself, standing tall. “Where is the Inquisitor?” he demanded.

          “Fenris?” said the man. “Hawke’s companion, right? _Oh_ …” The man’s eyes widened. “You must understand—”

          “ _Where is the Inquisitor?”_ he demanded again, more sternly. “Do not test my patience, Templar.”

          “S-She’s in the throne room having a meeting,” the man answered. “May I enquire what this is about?”

          “No, you may not,” Fenris replied. The man, who he recognised as ex-Knight-Captain Cullen from Kirkwall, had confirmed his initial thoughts as to where the Inquisitor may be. He turned his back on Cullen and marched out of the room.

          He crossed the bridge separating what appeared to be Cullen’s quarters from the main building, and pushed open the door to find a circular room, the walls covered in painted murals. “May I help you, Lethallan?” said a calm and soothing voice. A bald elf stood beside a table covered in books and papers in the centre of the room. Fenris merely rolled his eyes at him and crossed the room to the door on the opposite side.

          He kicked open the door to the throne room. A lot of people had gathered before the throne, where an important-looking woman sat, addressing the crowd. She was a small little thing, an elf with large pointy ears, dalish markings all over her face, with ginger hair and bright green eyes. Fenris set his sights upon her, shoving his way through the crowd, his blade drawn, anger bubbling in his veins like hot water, his lyrium markings glowing furiously with every step. “Out of my way!” Fenris barked as the crowd became denser the closer he got to the throne. The crowd screamed and parted at the sight of him, glowing like an angry ball of veil fire.

          “Andraste’s Ass!” a beardless dwarf at the side of the room spluttered, pushing his way through the crowd that tried to get away from Fenris. The elf marched towards the throne until he slammed straight into Varric. The dwarf, surprisingly strong for his small stature, shoved his shoulder into Fenris’ abdomen, his body blocking him from moving any closer.

          A young man with an oversized hat that concealed his face gasped beside the throne. “Oh, poor man. The torment inside of him… Heart shattering, anguish like fire in his blood… _I’m all alone in the world…_ ”

          “Elf, what did I say! Don’t do anything stupid!” Varric warned as he struggled against Fenris.

          Fenris fought against him, resisting the urge to use his lyrium abilities to send Varric flying across the room as hurt and betrayal rushed through him. His eyes glowed furiously as they locked upon the Inquisitor. Realisation flickered across her face as she watched him, guilt swelling in her eyes.

          Companions of hers moved to block Fenris from her, forming a wall. A Qunari with giant horns, an elf with jaggedly-cut sandy-blonde hair, a flamboyant mage that Fenris did not need to look twice at to know he came from Tevinter, a tough-looking woman with short dark hair and a sword, and another mage who wore such ornate clothing she had to have been from Orlais.

          “WHAT GIVES YOU THE RIGHT?” Fenris screamed, voice breaking as he struggled against Varric. With one enormous push he shoved the dwarf aside and charged towards the woman now standing in front of her throne. She looked down at him guiltily, mouth moving but no words coming from her lips. But no matter, as no words could soothe this situation. No words could bring Hawke back. She was dead, because of _her_.

          Fenris was met by the short haired woman’s blade in his face, but he knocked it away with his own and ducked beneath her reaching arm. A burly, bearded Warden tackled Fenris before he could get close to the Inquisitor, shoving him backwards. Fenris’ eyes settled on the griffon emblazoned on his chest, all muscles in his body tensing. His teeth bared, he growled, “I warn you, Warden, I will not hesitate to kill you. What makes your kin more superior to my Hawke? That you traitors deserve to live while she dies for you?” The Warden froze, sensing danger as he noticed the sheer fury in Fenris’ eyes, like a wild wolf ready to rip out his throat.

          “Back off, Hero,” Varric warned carefully. The Warden did as he was told, releasing Fenris and took several steps back so that Varric could replace him, arms out ready to brace against Fenris if he charged again.

          Fenris returned his attention to the Inquisitor. “WHAT GIVES YOU THE RIGHT TO CHOOSE ANOTHER LIFE OVER HERS?” he demanded, the grip on his sword tightening.

          “It wasn’t the Inquisitor’s fault,” Varric said calmly.

          “How can you say that? She chose another’s life over hers! You said so in your letter! Hawke is dead because of her!”

          “She _chose_ to sacrifice herself, Fenris!” Varric retorted, his own voice cracking. “It was _her_ choice! Trust me, I’m as hurt by this as you.”

          But Fenris refused to accept Varric’s answer, to accept that she was dead. It was someone else’s fault, surely. Hawke would not have willingly left him, not when she had _promised_ him.

_But it sounds like something Hawke would do. Hawke would sacrifice herself in the place of another, for the good of all._

          Fenris’ _Blade of Mercy_ fell to the floor with a clatter that echoed around the silent room. His breathing became ragged as his knees buckled from beneath him. Tears streamed freely from his eyes as anger and sorrow built up inside him once again. It was as though Skyhold’s roof had fallen down, crushing him beneath its great weight. His lyrium markings glowed brighter as he released his grief in an almighty roar that startled the crowd surrounding him. He fell to his hands and knees, his body wracking with sobs as he screamed his throat raw.

          “She promised me,” he whimpered. “She promised me she would come back…” He sat up, leaning back onto his feet, his hands reaching up to grab fistfuls of white hair as he sobbed on the stone floor in front of a crowd of spectators—not that he cared. He cared for nothing anymore, for the only person he truly cared about was gone.

          He would never feel her warm embrace again, nor the laugh that made him smile, or the touch of her lips against his. He would never see the eyes that had once lit up as he handed her a shakily written letter to help express his feelings for her. He would never see the smile that made his insides melt, or the body that lay perfectly next to his. Marian Hawke was dead and gone and he would never see her again.

          A comforting hand rested on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Elf,” Varric whispered, his own eyes welled with silent tears. “If I could go back and change Hawke’s mind somehow, I would. But you know how stubborn she can—could be.”

          Fenris nodded, hastily wiping away tears that continued to leak from his eyes. Varric was a blur as he knelt down before him and put his arms around the elf’s shoulders. Fenris, not one for physical contact unless it was from Hawke, rested his head on the dwarf’s shoulder as he sniffed, slowly regaining himself.

          He looked down at his right wrist where the red sash was tied. Hawke’s voice rang in his ears. _“I’ll always be here with you.”_

          Memories of her flashed before his eyes. The entrance hall of Hawke Estate, where he had kissed her for the first time, pushing her back into a wall as he could not resist the desire to have her any longer. The jolt of shock he felt when she reciprocated, expecting a slap or a swift punch to the jaw, but instead she had kissed him back, so passionately it had made his knees weak.

          In the Hanged Man tavern in Kirkwall, where Hawke helped him finally defeat his old master, Danarius, once and for all. How she had comforted him during his grief at finding out the truth regarding his lyrium markings, that he had a sister who had betrayed him.

          Their first night together between the sheets in Hawke Estate. How their bodies fitted together like two puzzle pieces. Her skin had been soft against his coarse hands, rough from slavery. The taste of sugar on her lips after popping little candies into her mouth—a gift from Varric after backing up one of his ridiculously exaggerated stories about her adventures in the Hanged Man.

          In the library together in Hawke Estate, where they had spent many evenings going over books, slowly progressing from children’s to adult’s, without any teasing or complaint on Hawke’s part, determined not to knock his confidence as his ability to read grew and grew…

          Fenris’ heart ached again, more painfully than ever before, knowing that he would never see or feel her again. He longed to hold her once more, to feel the beating of her heart against his chest. But he could not. There was not even a body to mourn. All he had left of her was the sash around his wrist.

          “Hawke wouldn’t want us to break down because of her,” Varric said softly, patting the elf’s back. “We’ve got to be strong, for her.”

          “For her,” Fenris repeated, his fingers running across the old sash.

 

Inspired by the [image](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/8e/81/39/8e8139ad11381a73f36940d6cc60f404.png) below, by Siriusdraws on Tumblr:

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Elé, Harmonie, and Hope for beta reading this for me! :)


End file.
